


Masters of our Fates

by Damdamfino



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Femdom, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Exploration, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Mild Hurt/Comfort, My First Smut, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Smut, this is not fluff, wordy smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-17 00:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damdamfino/pseuds/Damdamfino
Summary: Sansa wants to feel in control. Jon wants to feel alive.





	Masters of our Fates

**Author's Note:**

> pre or post R+L=J reveal...your choice. :) I am staying ambiguous. This is my first ever smut(ish). I like this dynamic of Dom!Sansa and Sub!Jon, and I have a lot of head canons and scenes in my head about it. This is just how this particular scene decided to play out. This might become a small series of scenes if I have the time. I don't read a lot of PWP or smut, so I don't know how this usually goes... so yeah. 
> 
> A gift to my followers for my 700 followers celebration over on Tumblr @a-baleful-howl. Yay! Thank you so much!

  
There were three raps on the door. It was so late Jon couldn't possibly begin to guess who it might be. Deep down, though, he knew who he hoped it would be. When he opened the door, his prayers were answered. Sansa stood before him, draped in her thickest furs. She was alone and she hesitated to meet his eye.

“Can I come in?” she asked, weakly staring at the stone floors. He quickly stepped aside to let her through. Once she had stepped past the threshold, he shut the door behind her.

He swallowed hard, worried about her next words. She had avoided him for days after their last conversation. She had been declining dinners and staying in her room. He had admitted his feelings for her, begging for forgiveness for his impure thoughts. He had sought some sort-of closure or ease to his guilt - he simply had to say it before it ate him alive.

When he confessed why he had been so cold to her, he didn't know what he expected. But her spinning on her heel and walking away from him without a word was not it. For each day since, her absence spoke louder than the last. _He had disgusted her._

But now...she was here. Alone with him in his chambers. He waited patiently for her to speak first, afraid that were he to break the silence, he might say something else he would come to regret.

“Jon, I have to admit something.” She spoke so surely he feared it might be bad news. He watched her pace, preparing for the worst. “Ever since you told me...I couldn't get these thoughts out of my head. No... not thoughts. Perhaps... _visions_.”

A gasp caught in his throat as his heartbeat drummed louder in his ears. She didn’t seem to notice. Her eyebrows knitted together as she struggled to find her words.

“I don't know why...but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He let out the breath he had been holding. Had she really just said that? Was she admitting she wanted to be with him too?

“Mother always told me that I would never marry for love,” she mused, her hands fumbling in knots. “I didn’t believe her. I hoped I’d find a nice husband, who would be sweet and kind to me. But I was wrong...” she trailed off.

“Sansa…” he sighed, moving towards her. He wanted to stop her pain. To sweep her into his arms and kiss the memories from her. She looked so small in this moment - so vulnerable. This was not the woman he saw around the Lords of the North, where she was always stoic and courteous. He could tell the words did not come easy to her now.

“No. Don't.” Panicky, she raised her hand in the air, halting him in his steps. Her eyes were wide and she pierced him with a stare only reserved for a pig going to slaughter. She didn't want him to come closer, he noted. _Then why was she here?_

Shakily she sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment to steal her own courage. She stepped closer to him so there was only a daggers length between them. So close yet so far. “Everyone always takes without asking. Petyr took. Men grabbed. _Ramsay_ hurt me. Did what he liked with me. It was never _love_ from them. Do you understand?”

He could only look at her through half-lidded eyes. He understood. Probably not well enough, but perhaps he never truly wanted to know. He only wanted for her to never feel that pain again.

“But you...” She drew even closer. “Why do _you_ have to be so good to me?” Timidly she reached up and lightly pulled her fingers through his dark curls and behind his ear. He closed his eyes at her light touch and resisted the impulse to take her mouth right then. Her hands were warm, despite the frost in the air, and she smelled sweet, of rose oil. He heard a bitter laugh from behind his closed eyelids. “The gods must be laughing at my misfortune.”

_The gods are cruel,_ he agreed silently. He leaned his face into her hand and exhaled a light sigh. Her scent was intoxicating. She sharply pulled her hand away. _Why would they make me want what I can't have?_

“I...I don't think I can ever be with a man again.” She whispered, tucking her hands back into the safety of her cloak. And like that, she was gone from him again.

“You can,” he stressed. “You will. With someone who truly loves you. Someone who will not harm you.”

“No,” suddenly she said. “I don't think I can.”

His heart dropped as he watched her dive further into herself. _Don't leave._ “I care for you.” Jon breathed, taking a step closer to wrap her in his arms. “Those men were monsters, Sansa.”

“Stop.” She said. “Just...stay there. Stay still. Please.” Jon obeyed, but his heart wrenched free. He didn't want to upset her. He didn't want to frighten her.

“I can't give you what you want,” she insisted. “I’m not as beautiful as I once was. I'm hideous now.”

“You're not-”

“I am! Ramsay took so much without asking. Did so much without apologizing. I was alone and he made sure no one would ever love me again.”

He knew what she meant. He had seen the bruises and bite marks on her arms when she arrived at Castle Black. But scars did not change who she was inside - the woman he watched grow and mature throughout the months. The woman who made him see his own worth. The one who gave him a kingdom.

“Sansa, I carry scars, too,” he breathed. “They will be with me my entire life. They don't make a person spoiled goods.”

She regarded him for several moments silently, gripping the edges of her fur cloak as if to hide deeper into them. Both of their heavy breaths filled the room, echoing off the stone walls.

Suddenly she muttered, “Can I see?” Immediately he went to remove his shirt, pulling it up over his head and casting it aside onto the floor. Now he was vulnerable, too.

She pulled back and measured him for a few moments. She glanced at each scar on his chest, lingering on the crescent shaped scar directly over his heart. Jon felt emptier with her not beside him, he longed to grab her and melt their two bodies together. But he saw a quiver in her hands as she raised them to the collar of her cloak.

She took in a shaky breath and closed her eyes in what seemed like pain. What was she thinking? What was she going to say to his own display of a painful past?

To his surprise, she chuckled under her breath. A low and mirthless sound. It was not the sweet jingle of bells as it usually sounded to him. This was humorless. Slowly she reached up to tangle her fingers around the tie at her neck, and undid the knot to let her own cloak and furs fall to the floor.

Jon was shocked to see that she had been wearing nothing underneath her cloak this entire time. Her complete body stood in front of him now, and he had trouble drinking it all in. Never had he ever expected to see this view in his lifetime. It took a few moments for him to began to see the small discolored marks all over her skin. Lines and circles and x-marks. Markings of a mad man.

They started at her collarbone, crescent shaped marks that must have been from teeth drawing blood. Her arms covered in crosses, from blades slicing over and over in a row. Some were darker than others. Some were raised and others were deep - sunken in where there used to be firm skin. Jon forgot she was naked now. He was too busy looking at her skin and all the markings on it.

As he traveled down to her thighs. He felt sick. That was the worst of it by far. Lines from straps long gone wrapped about her thighs, and deep puncture marks from what appeared to be dogs teeth marked the meaty flesh of her inner leg.

This man had absolutely tortured her. Jon could not even begin to imagine what had happened during her time locked inside Winterfell with that monster. The evidence could not describe all of it. Only Sansa could tell the truth. And Jon didn't want her to. If Jon could pull a soul up from the dead only to send it back, he would. Over and over and over again.

When he had seen every last scar, he finally looked back to her face, and he saw her eyes brimming with tears. He wished he could take it back. If only he had changed something sooner. Never gone to the Night's Watch. Left the crows sooner. _If only..._

“He ruined me,” she croaked. “He took and he hurt me.”

Jon didn't know what to say. He didn't want to be what every other man had been for her. They took her for her beauty, or for her title. No one saw the kindness in her heart or the strength in her mind. How do you comfort someone who was so impossibly broken?

“ _Hurt me,_ ” he spoke suddenly.

She gasped and choked on a sob in her throat. “W-what?” she asked. He had not realized how much he meant it when he said it - but he did. He wanted this.

“Hurt me,” he repeated.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she whispered. Her eyes were wild in confusion, but her tears had stopped, Jon noted.

“Sansa, you're still beautiful to me,” he said. “But I don't want to hurt you. Hurt me. Use me. Do whatever you want with me if it will ease your pain. I only want to please you.”

She sniffled slightly, wary for a moment, before she inched closer to him. Her interest was piqued. She seemed to forget her nakedness as she drew close and smoothed a hand across his chest.

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

She glanced down to stare at his chest for a long moment, drinking in his flesh and muscles. She swiped a finger over a ripple of his stomach and exhaled softly.

“Okay,” she answered. His heartbeat quickened again, as she bit her lower lip in thought. Something awoke within him as she teased her mouth so close to his body. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the sudden determination and curiosity there surprised him. “Stay still. Don't move unless I tell you to. I think I can handle it if you don't move,” she said as she pulled her hands from him and turned away.

He nodded, swallowing back the temptation to pull her back towards him. He could be still...at least he hoped he could.

“Blow out the candles,” she ordered. “It must be dark.”

He rushed to extinguish every lit candle in the chamber, and once he was done she spoke again. “Kneel on the floor.” He obeyed. “Keep your hands on your thighs.” So he did.

She walked in front of him, her body cast in shadows. He could no longer point out the marks on her skin, only the creamy curves of her body. If he squinted his eyes he could just barely make out a tuft of red hair between her legs, but he was more interested in seeing the length of her legs toward the floor and the curve of her thighs at his eye level. It was not her cunt he wanted to see. This wasn't for him, he reminded himself.

She faltered for a moment, hesitating above him. “Close your eyes,” she added, almost as an afterthought once she realized the light from the moon still illuminated her skin. As he inhaled deeply, he closed his eyes and suddenly he could see no more. There was only black.

He felt her lithe fingers pull through his thick strands, like pebbles dragging through the tide. She perked her fingers at the back of his head and forced him to throw his head back, revealing the length of his throat. Wide open and vulnerable.

He could smell the scent of warm rose oil wafting off her wrist and an aching twitched inside him. _She smelled so good…_ He had been forced to smell the sweat of dirty men and the stink of ice for so long - her womanly smell warmed the edges of his soul.

Her fingernails traveled to the back of his neck, down his collarbone and across his shoulder and a shiver rippled through him. His skin frosted over as he anticipated where her fingers were going next.

To his arms, apparently. Her hand wrapped around one of his taunt biceps and gave a small squeeze. He breathed a chuckle and resisted the urge to flex to make them bulge larger.

“Dont…” she warned, silencing the smirk on his face. “Don't move,” she reminded him. There was a hint of amusement to her voice, but he relaxed his face anyway, returning to a statue.

She ran her palm down the rest of his arm, and intertwined her fingers with his. He could hear her small, shuddering breathes not far from him and she raised their hands up.

“Will you be gentle?” she asked.

“Yes,” he swore.

Suddenly his hand was not his own. She had placed it on her breast, pressing it and leading it with her own hand as a guide. He couldn't quell the moan that rose from his body then.

_Be still,_ he urged himself. _Dont move_. He pressed his eyelids together harder. The thought that Sansa was naked mere inches away from him was torturing him. But he wasn't allowed to look. She was not his to control.

He could have kneaded her soft flesh all night. He would have been content with that. But she removed their hands and returned his to its original position.

“Keep it there,” she ordered. He nodded, but that was not enough. “Say it.”

“Yes,” he answered. “I won’t move.”

She shifted in front of him, but he couldn't tell where she was going. Suddenly he jumped as he felt her soft lips against his chest. Moving from place to place, leaving a warm fog in their midst. She was kissing his scars.

He inhaled deeply. He had never felt this vulnerable before. He wanted to shrink away - to cover himself and hide the marks of his downfall. Something about her gentleness moved him. He wanted to return the favor - to kiss every scar on her body away and swear _never again_. Yet he remained still.

He counted in his head. Six kisses for six stabs wounds. She knelt down to place a final kiss on the lowest of them, right above his hip bone and dangerously close to where his hair started to thicken and darken again.

He wanted to pull her up. She didn't need to be down there. A lady doesn't do such things. But he stayed still.

Without any warning, suddenly her hands were cupping his face, her fingers raking through the waves of his hair and her lips were pressed against his.

His arms trembled in the stress of having to keep them still. He felt like he was lifting the heaviest broadsword as he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her to him. He wanted the full veracity of this kiss he had been dreaming of for a lifetime.

She broke away from him with a pant and a small flick of her tongue on his bottom lip. He found himself pulling towards her, yearning for more. He wanted more.

She braced herself on his bare shoulders and he felt her weight nestle onto his lap as she straddled him. Her unclothed body rested hard against his painfully restrained cock. For a moment he wanted to shift, move away, worried his erection would upset her.

“Jon,” she breathed. _Sansa…_ He wanted to plead. “Open your eyes.” He obeyed.

Her face was close to his, their noses almost touching. He knew she was naked on him, her legs open wide as they spread on either side of him, but he was too preoccupied by her eyes to gaze downwards.

He had once believed her eyes were ice blue, but here in the dark he realized he was wrong. They were not ice blue - he had been around enough ice to know ice was white and cold. Her eyes were an ocean - swimming depths of mystery and danger. He wanted to drown in them - to see the sun dance on the surface as he sank in their depths.

He had always been wrong. Ice was cold and unmoving. The sea was always moving, always changing and filled with life. Her eyes were an ocean.

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his quickly, and she raised a hand to spread it across his cheek, resting her fingers in his hair. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes.” He had never been more okay.

“Good,” she said, biting the bottom of her lip. “This is going well.” She moved to stand. “I want you to stand up-” she started.

Before Sansa could move completely off his lap, he laced a single arm around her waist, holding her to him and rose them both. She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her feet behind his back to keep herself steady.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized halfheartedly. He couldn't resist showing off in that moment.

“No,” she panted. “That was...that was fine.” She glanced at the ground below. “Put me down.” He did.

It was dark in the room, but in the moonlight he could see the edges of her curves. Her skin was a milky white, and the moonlight danced across her skin, sending tiny shadows off her raised scars, painting her with spots. It was still a beautiful sight.

“Dont-” she insisted. “Don't look at me.”

But he wanted to. She was beautiful. He closed his eyes anyway.

“Show me all of you,” she whispered. He hesitated, wary about revealing his raging cock in front of her. “I want to see.”

With a sigh he obeyed, leaning down to slide his trousers off his body. She has trusted him with her body, he needed to trust her with his. His erection bounced free and stood to attention.

There was a long agonizing moment of silence as neither one of them moved.

“Lay down on the bed,” she commanded. He felt behind him with his hands to find the edge of his bed and laid down on it. He was only a spectator here now. He wondered what she was going to do next. _But at least it was her own choosing_ , he thought.

He felt the bed shift next to him and his muscles flinched as her fingers stroked down his stomach. Her fingers were trembling.

“It's odd,” she mused as her fingers danced across his skin. “That such a silly little piece of flesh can either cause great joy or great pain.”

Jon suddenly wanted to cover himself. He had never used his for pain. “Sansa…” He started to say.

“Stop,” she said. “I want to see.” And then he felt the pressure as she wrapped her hand firmly around his cock. “I've never fully seen one before,” she mused. “Ramsay liked to mount me like a bitch- like one of his trained hounds. I never saw it but I could feel it. And when you can't see what you're afraid of, somehow your mind makes it worse than it actually is. Ramsey's cock could have had spikes and had been made out of sand for all I knew.” She twisted and turned his cock in her hand, inspecting it.

“It's really not that bad…” She let go and flicked the tip of his member with a finger and it bounced back upright. “I almost want to-”

“ _Sansa!_ ” He jumped up at the sudden sensation. Her tongue still hung out of her mouth as she stared at him, fresh from the motion of licking the hot slit of his cock.

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide. Jon scrambled to answer. No woman had ever used their mouth on his cock - and he couldn't imagine beautiful Sansa to be the first. But perhaps...she was perfect to be the first. “Did I hurt you? I thought men liked that.”

“They do, but-”

“Are you going to keep jumping?” She asked, leaning back onto her haunches. “It's very unnerving,” she whispered. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

“No,” Jon snapped. He wanted this. He wanted this more than he expected. “Just…know you don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

Sansa measured him, in his nakedness, for a moment. They were both open and vulnerable, their skin left to the elements. Then, to his surprise, her eyes twinkled to life and a small smirk glimmered in the dark.

She swung her leg over him and straddled him, planting her palms on his chest. His cock was nestled in the crease of her legs, and he could feel her warm wetness sliding on the length of his shaft. His heartbeat thrummed in his head, but he stayed as still as he could. She leaned down on top of him, pressing her breasts against his bare flesh, her pert nipples grazing across his skin, and she nestled her face against his. She rubbed her cheek against the stubble of his beard hair, the noise a crackle in the air.

“But what do you want, Jon?” She whispered into his ear.

_I want to be inside of you_ , he thought. _I want to worship you_.

He couldn't form words. He could only moan. The air of her giggle puffed against his ear. He lost himself. She was teasing him. And she was enjoying it.

He wanted to suck on her nipples that were so close to his face. He wanted to reach down and grab a handful of her soft ass. He wanted to run his hands down the length of her waist and over her scars. He wanted to fully experience her body finally.

Suddenly his sight was taken from him. She had pulled a fur from the bed and placed it over his eyes, only leaving his mouth uncovered. _No peeking now…_ That was deserved.

Next his wrists were restrained. Strapped with the leather belt of his sword sheath. She wrapped it tightly around his wrists and raised them over his head, pinioning him to the bed. A more fearful man would have protested, would have wanted free use of his hands. Jon only swelled in anticipation. He wanted to be powerless.

“I told you to stay still,” Sansa warned, tightening the last notch to the wood.

“I'm sorry,” he breathed.

She returned to massaging his cock. “Did it hurt?” she asked. “With the other woman?”

“No,” he answered.

Her mouth gulped in his cock suddenly. His legs jerked. His stomach tensed. _Seven Hells… That felt good._

“Stop before I have to strap your legs down too.”

“Sorry.”

“Did that hurt?”

“No,” he stressed. Her mouth took his cock again, more aggressively this time. She seemed to enjoy licking the edges, exploring it with her tongue. Almost as if to make sure it didnt have spikes. His toes flexed as he held back moans in his throat. He was hers, not the other way around.

Her tongue left his cock to travel north. She licked the ridges of his abdomen, her delicate fingernails tickling the sides of his ribs. His arms struggled against his restraints, to block her tantalizing fingers from reaching his armpits, but he was trapped. She was the powerful one here.

Her mouth reached his neck, and he felt an ever-so-slight sigh against his jugular.

“Kiss me,” she moaned. So he did.

He could taste himself in her mouth, sweet and salty. It was different than the taste of a woman. Most men joked about never kissing their ladies after they sucked their cocks - but Jon didn't care in that moment. He wanted to lick every drip off her tongue, he wanted to feel her soft lips with his own. He wanted to be involved.

She moaned into his mouth. It was such a sweet sound. She lingered, probably longer than a kiss should last. When he needed air, she didn't break away. When his lips felt raw, she persisted.

It wasn't until he felt the sharp sting of a cold drop on his face that he realized what was happening. Her moans turned into choked squeaks, more feverish, more desperate.

He forced his mouth free then. “Sansa,” he said. There was no more time for playing now. Quickly she reached up and undid the restraints on his wrists. One he was free he immediately pulled the furs from his eyes to see her. Her cheeks were stained with tears, her mouth quivering ever so slightly.

“ _Hold me,”_ she choked. Which he did.

He wrapped his arms around her and sat up, cradling her in his lap. She hugged his neck tight, burying her face in him as her quiet sobs continued. He ran his hand across her bare back, finally feeling her skin under his own calloused hands.

“It's not supposed to hurt…” she whispered into his neck.

“It's not supposed to hurt,” he repeated.

He could feel his heart breaking and falling at her cries. He felt guilt for something he had not even done. She had been hurt badly. More than he would ever see in his lifetime. At least men in war die shortly after pain. They don't have to continue living.

She was broken. And her exploring his body had not been enough to quell her fears. She trembled and shook as the fear and pain overtook her again. He was finally holding her, finally feeling the softness of her skin against his own - but someone else had been there first.

Silently he moved them to lay down, and he curled around her, engulfing her tiny frame into his arms. And he did what no other man had done before. He comforted her.

 


End file.
